Enslaved by the Viking. Harper St. GeorgeЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Four

      There came a time, over the next several days, when Merewyn would have welcomed death as the only escape from the constant rocking of the boat. It made her stomach roil in protest. Even the thoughts in her head seemed to rock and shift with the movement of the vessel. They floated from anger to fear to despair and back again as if a wave had pitched them around. The men on the boat didn’t seemed to notice that constant moving and walked around as if on land. She’d glared at them at first, but soon her physical discomfort had turned her thoughts inwards so that she barely noticed them.

      And they barely noticed her, a small favour for which she was eternally grateful, since she spent a good portion of the first couple of days retching over the side of the boat. But after she became too weak to move, it happened where she lay. By then her retching was dry heaves and the water forced on her; it mixed nicely with the seawater that constantly sloshed around the bottom of the boat, soaking her gown and freezing her to the bone. It felt as though she would never be dry again, and was caked in a layer of salt and grime that she feared would be fused to her skin for ever.

      She didn’t even know how long she’d been on the cursed boat, only that the light became dark in a nauseating cycle she couldn’t keep up with. Every morning when the sun broke over the side of the boat to touch her face, the boy named Vidar, who’d been told to watch over her, offered her smoked fish. It tasted awful. The boy couldn’t be but a few years younger than her, probably the same age as Godfrey, Alfred’s eldest son. But he seemed much older, leaving her to wonder if these people only produced giants.

      He was the one to supply her with water, but after she refused Eirik had been summoned. He appeared every time her thoughts turned to death and despair to stand over her with that ever-present look of disappointment. Apparently, she wasn’t as well behaved as a good captive should be. Perhaps she wasn’t supposed to be sickened by the constant motion. He never reprimanded her, though, only spoke to her in quick commands to eat or drink, but she could never get much of the smoked fish down. Not even after the nausea had subsided.

      * * *

      By the time land was sighted, Merewyn could barely rouse the interest to lift her head at the sound of the cheer that went up in the boat. But as the longship drew ever closer to the shoreline, her stomach crept further into her throat until she could barely swallow and the trembling in her limbs returned. What demands would be made of her in this new place? Was this their destination or simply another stop on the journey?

      Before she realised that she had moved, she clutched the gunwale with a white-knuckled grip and searched the approaching shore for some clue as to her fate. She saw a long stretch of a sandy beach with slight green hills in the background; as they drew closer, she discerned the outline of what appeared to be a village. Numerous buildings were clustered together, most of them squatty and slight, but a few were a more substantial, rectangular shape. Farther past the village dark spots that she assumed were animals grazing littered a slight rise in the ground.

      She hoped the perfectly tranquil setting didn’t house something darker, such as a market that dealt in human flesh. She had always imagined those cities to be bigger, not villages with shepherds tending sheep and mothers tending hearths.

      ‘This is home.’ Eirik’s deep voice was so near her ear, it made her jump.

      She turned her head slightly to see him leaning close to her as he looked out at the shore. Her gaze traced the strong line of his jaw. The weight of his body was warm behind her, though he didn’t touch her. His face wasn’t cold and disapproving now as he watched the village get closer. Nay, his blue eyes had definitely taken on a glow of excitement, and for the first time she found herself wondering about his life. Who was he to this village and what did these people mean to him?

      He looked down at her, his gaze raking her face before settling on her own. ‘This is your new life. You’d do well to forget the old one.’

      ‘You mean forget the life where I was free, to accept being your slave?’ Her eyes flashed her anger, even as the words rang false to her ears. She’d gone to the beach in search of her elusive freedom, but had only managed to find a slavery that was more absolute than the drudgery she’d faced at home.

      His strong jaw clenched, and the blue in his eyes burned with fire. ‘Acceptance will make your life here better. Aye, accept that you are no longer the sister of a Saxon lord. You are mine to command now.’ With those harsh words, he grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. Before she realised what he meant to do, he coiled a rope tight around her wrists and bound them together.

      ‘You may command me, but I will never be yours.’

      He glanced at her face and didn’t reply. But the glance lingered and his thumb traced over the bruise she knew must be fading. There was no pain from the touch, just a strange trembling within her that made her jerk her face away. His hand dropped back to her wrists.

      Merewyn looked at his fingers as he worked, noting that he made sure the bindings stayed on the outside of her sleeves. His nails were clean and trimmed, and she wondered how he had stayed so groomed while she was a mess. But then her thoughts moved to what was ahead. Despite the horror of being taken captive and the gruelling seasickness that had claimed her, there had been a strange reassurance to the routine of the boat. Eirik had stayed true to his word and hadn’t harmed her. She was surprised to realise that she’d even come to rely on his strong presence as a sort of security to the unknown. Now that could change.

      What demands would be placed on her in this new environment, his home? The look he’d given her when he’d held her against the stone was still a vivid memory. Then there was the way he’d just touched her. It meant things she didn’t even want to think of, but an image from a morning she’d gone into the stable to visit a newborn baby lamb came to mind. She’d thought the place deserted. Everyone should have been in the fields. But there had been a sound.

      At first she’d mistaken it for an animal, but as she’d approached the stall, she’d recognised it as human. It had been a moan followed by a series of groans that had heated her cheeks even when she’d been unsure of the source. Then she’d found them. A couple in a carnal embrace. White buttocks, luminous in the darkened space, worked between thighs equally as pale against the straw. Merewyn had watched for two heartbeats longer than was necessary to know what was happening. And she’d left with a strange feeling twisting deep in her belly and had promptly buried the memory.

      But it had never really left her and came out to haunt her at odd times, such as nights when she couldn’t sleep or when she’d catch one of Alfred’s men looking at her with an odd expression. His men were universally disgusting creatures with bad manners and coarse habits. The idea of them having such thoughts about her had filled her with revulsion.

      The memory of that day came out from hiding now as the Northman attended her. She knew his thoughts were similar to those of Alfred’s men, but she wasn’t filled with revulsion. But, fear? Aye, the fear was there.

      ‘Why did you take me?’ The white of those buttocks flashed in her mind. She couldn’t banish them. Was that what he meant to do to her? His eyes had claimed her against that stone forge, even if his body hadn’t had the opportunity. He’d wanted to. She’d felt the hard proof of his manhood as he’d pressed her hips against the stones.

      Eirik’s gaze touched hers briefly, giving nothing away, before he turned to see to their arrival. The fissure he’d opened widened and she slid ever closer to that abyss in her mind.